Elisabeth
by Caeristhiona
Summary: Yet another take on the age-old classic hypothesis: why does Sherlock Holmes hate women? Answer: read the story!


When my eldest brother save one disappeared, my natural reaction was to inform all my dearest friends. I was, you see, but nearly eighteen years of age, and didn't realize the full meaning of privacy in family crisis. Yet I am glad I did, now, because the advice of every friend was the same: go to Mr. Sherlock Holmes.  
  
Mr. Holmes had the reputation around the university of being uncannily intelligent with these sorts of things, and so in my grief and confusion, I went to him. I must confess that I was rather afraid of him, for, save Mr. Victor Trevor, he had no friends and very few acquaintances. Mr. Trevor had been a good friend of mine ever since I had first attended the university the year before, and he assured me that there was nothing to really be afraid of, that Mr. Holmes was really "a good old chap" once you got to know him. Yet I refused to believe him, and it was with a trembling heart that I made my way to his rooms on Elm Street. As the landlady led me to his rooms all the terrible rumors went through my head. He was supposed to be very tall, and as I was a mere five feet, four inches the thought of him terrified me even more. He could tell at a glance everything about you. The idea of anyone knowing all about me made me shrink decidedly. The landlady announced me, and I could hear what I guessed to be his voice say,  
  
"I do not recognize the name. Alright, then, send her in."  
  
I drew a deep breath and marched in bravely. He uncoiled his legs from the great armchair and rose to greet me. My hand was deadly cold, but I held it shakily out anyway. He wrung it cordially, and waved me into an armchair. He turned the light slightly toward my face, and looked me all over carefully. As he swept his glance over me he spoke, seemingly to himself.  
  
"Came by carriage from the college grounds, where she resides in the ladies' dormitory. Not over twenty years of age. Previously resided in the country, probably Yorkshire. Yes, definitely Yorkshire. She is a musician, likely of the piano." He looked up at me. "Well?"  
  
It was with an effort that I kept myself from fainting.  
  
"You are correct, sir, though I do not see how you know all that, when we have never met before today." A sudden suspicion entered my mind. "Has Mr. Trevor told you?"  
  
He chuckled softly.  
  
"Not at all. I deduced it from your clothing, complexion, bearing, and several other things which I won't bother to mention. I could tell you more about yourself, but will simply ask you, what are you so afraid of?"  
  
He said it kindly, and I felt slightly better. Perhaps he wasn't an ogre- ish hermit among his eccentric books, as my imagination had previously thought him. Yet I was reluctant to tell him my true fears, just in case he was only a very good actor. But I decided that whatever he did, I could be no more frightened, nor surprised, for I had expected terrible things of him. I took a deep breath and began.  
  
"Of you, sir."  
  
He looked rather surprised.  
  
"Of me?"  
  
I nodded vigorously. Once I had told him this, all the rest seemed to burst out of me all at once before I could stop it. It ended up a confused babbling, but he nodded, as though he somewhat understood what I said.  
  
"See, I was so terribly afraid, because I am so shy and nervous, and no one hardly knew you except Mr. Trevor, and he said that you were odd but that I shouldn't be afraid, but I didn't believe him because he often teazes me, and then when you told me that I played piano and all that I nearly fainted!"  
  
He nodded, soberly, but I think he was trying not to laugh, since the corner of his mouth twitched momentarily.  
  
"I see. But if you were so shy of me, there must be an important reason why you came to see me." I nodded again. "What is it?"  
  
"Mr. Trevor said you could solve anything. I have a dreadful problem. I come to you only because I do not know what else to do."  
  
"Then I shall do my best to help you. But first, I ought to offer you something to drink?"  
  
"Oh no, sir, but thank you. I ought to get on with my story." I related to him all the facts concerning my brother's disappearance. He interrupted at intervals with questions which I answered readily. When the narrative was complete he rose from his chair.  
  
"Well, Miss Brainagh, if you would be so kind as to call tomorrow evening at this same time."  
  
"Oh, I cannot. I have an exam coming up and I must study for it. I shall not be free until almost eight."  
  
"Oh, that's all right. The next day will be Saturday. You can come Saturday morning or evening. The extra day will give me more time for thinking anyway."  
  
"Alright. Then, I shall see you on Saturday!"  
  
"Till then. Good-night, Miss Brainagh."  
  
"Good-night, Mr. Holmes."  
  
As I drove home I decided that he really was a good old chap, once you got to know him.  
  
The next morning, my room-mate, Alice Johnson, who was a full year farther along in her studies than me, approached me smugly.  
  
"So, how did the interview go?"  
  
"Perfectly alright." I did not look up from my book.  
  
"But how did it go?" She snatched my book away. I grabbed once at it, then sighed.  
  
"He's alright I suppose."  
  
"Did you like him?"  
  
"Oh, I guess so."  
  
"But did you like him?"  
  
"Very much. In fact, we are engaged. We will be married just as soon as he graduates."  
  
"Be serious, Lissy."  
  
"Oh, if I must. He was very gentlemanly. He seemed quite confident about the outcome of the case, and I am to call upon him Saturday."  
  
But Alice was not satisfied.  
  
"Did he like you?"  
  
"How am I supposed to know something like that?"  
  
"A woman always knows."  
  
"He is tolerant of me. Anything else you want to know? Did he kiss me good-night? Did he ask me to dinner? Is he married? Is he handsome? What else?"  
  
"You've just about covered it all."  
  
I groaned and grabbed my book back. I informed Alice that if she spoke once more, I would strangle her. She seemed to take the hint and left.  
  
Upon the Saturday, I made my way once again to Elm Street. I had made great progress, for I felt only slightly shy as the landlady introduced me again. Again Mr. Holmes requested I by sent in, and I straightened my posture and walked confidently into the room. I found him in earnest conversation with a young man whose back was to me. When the young man turned round, I saw it was my brother, who had been missing. I suppose I should have run to greet him or at least said something, but I simply stood there staring like an idiot. After a while I realized I wasn't breathing. I caught my breath, but still didn't know how to react. My brother got up and gathered me into his arms. I wanted to cry or laugh or something, but didn't want to in front of Mr. Holmes, though I wasn't sure why I cared so about what he thought of me. My brother let me go, and said that he wanted to go surprise my eldest brother, and he had to catch the next train going out. He shook Mr. Holmes' hand, kissed me, and left. When I heard the downstairs door shut, I turned to Mr. Holmes.  
  
"I'd like to thank you for finding my brother. I'm willing to pay."  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"I play the game for it's own sake. The work is it's own reward. Although," he added thoughtfully, "from what your brother's told me, you are very interested in foreign literature? I should like to discuss it with you sometime. Perhaps Tuesday evening, seven o'clock, at the park on the campus grounds?"  
  
"Yes, that sounds lovely." I was completely stunned. He didn't seem like the type to. I bid him good-night and left.  
  
I was surprised on the Tuesday at his power of conversation. He could be quite entertaining, and of course he was very intelligent and educated. We spoke on a variety of subjects, and argued until nearly nine. When we realized the time, he walked me back to the steps of the dormitory building. He asked if he could see me the next night, and I agreed.  
  
I can't say when I first began to love him. It was all so gradual, I couldn't say. I first realized it one autumn evening when Alice approached me on it.  
  
"How long have you been seeing him?" she asked.  
  
"Several months."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And I am to see him again tonight."  
  
"Lissy, do you love him?" I started violently.  
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
"Well, if you do, I should strongly advise against it."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"He is not heir to a large fortune. He has no talent in making large sums of money. He is the queerest person at the college. And he has no good looks to make up for it."  
  
"I that all you care about? How a man looks and how many pounds he has a year?"  
  
"Even you cannot deny that several thousand a year is one of the greatest virtues."  
  
"But what of kindness? Patience? Love? Intelligence? Compassion?"  
  
"Those are all right in their turn, but you must see the practical side of every match, else you will be forced to regret it. Now, Mr. Trevor, on the other hand, is quite the ideal partner. He is amiable, handsome, and takes two thousand a year. A match with him would be envied you by every girl of any sense."  
  
"A girl with any sense would wish to marry for love."  
  
"So do I wish to."  
  
"As long as he has several thousand a year."  
  
"Well, do you blame me?"  
  
"For wanting good fortune, no. For only wanting good fortune and thinking that the most important thing, yes."  
  
"Then answer me this: do you or do you not love Mr. Holmes? You are of a wealthy family. They will not approve the match."  
  
"I am of a wealthy family who loves me. If I am happy, they care not whether my husband is rich or poor."  
  
"So they say now. But when confronted with the idea of connexion with one whose family is not well known or wealthy, they will be forced to change their minds."  
  
"His brother is with the government."  
  
"What is his brother's name?"  
  
"Mycroft Holmes."  
  
"I have never heard of him, and neither has anyone else. I'm only trying to save you from an imprudent match."  
  
"If I fall in love with a man whom the entire world refuses to allow me to marry, I will run away with him. I will not risk my happiness for what anyone says is an imprudent match."  
  
"That will only lead to trouble."  
  
"Unless he is Mr. Trevor."  
  
"That is what I think."  
  
I looked away. Alice was obviously not going to yield to reason. I excused myself. I needed a walk to clear my mind. I had already learned that I loved Mr. Holmes, although Alice was the last person to whom I would admit it. But I did not yet know if he loved me. If he did, and he wished to marry me, then of course I would comply. But only if my family agreed with my sentiments. I hadn't really meant what I'd said about running away from home. It would bring the deepest disgrace upon my family and upon me. I should never be welcome anywhere. I was pondering upon this when I met up with Mr. Trevor. I invited him to join me, and he agreed readily. We walked in silence for some time, I pondering Alice and my conversation of earlier, he casting nervous, indecisive glances at me. There was a small wood on one edge of the park. It was a beautiful wood, full of thickly grown trees. He asked if we might walk through it, and I acquiesced, not caring anymore much what we did, as I had decided that Mr. Holmes likeliest did not love me as anything more than a friend. I was pitying myself exceedingly when Mr. Trevor took up my hand in both of his and spoke to me in a determined, well-assured voice.  
  
"Elisabeth," he said, calling me for the first time by my Christian name, "I have loved you ever since I first met you. I am hopeful, indeed, that you have learned to love me, and that you will accept my offer of marriage."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Elisabeth Brainagh, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"  
  
By this time his attitude was so sure of success that even if I had loved him, I would have rebelled at his surety. But we had been friends for so long I could not bring myself to speak harshly to him.  
  
"I.I can't," I whispered haltingly.  
  
"You can't?" He seemed confused.  
  
"No, I can't."  
  
"Why not?" He took his breath in sharply. "Is there someone else?" I pursed my lips and nodded. "Who is it, then?"  
  
"I can't tell you."  
  
"Why not? Do I know him? For if I do, I'll go to him right now and." His set jaw and fiery eyes spoke louder than ever his words could do.  
  
"That is why I can't tell you. And, I don't know if he loves me."  
  
"If he doesn't, then what have you to lose by marrying me?"  
  
"Everything. I cannot and will not marry a man whom I do not love. It would be a torture worse than I could bear, to share your home when I loved another, never knowing if he loved me. All the fortunes in the world can never change that resolve."  
  
"And I can never hope for you again?"  
  
I shook my head. He dropped my hand.  
  
"I am so sorry, Mr. Trevor."  
  
"No. It is my fault. Like the blind beetle I was, I refused to believe that you could ever love any man but me. Ah well, it would be a selfish love that refused to want what was best for his love. So then, I can honestly wish you and Holmes the greatest happiness."  
  
He turned and walked away, his head still held proudly.  
  
An evening in midwinter found me once again walking in the park with a gentleman, and discussing connubial subjects. The dissimilarity was that they were being discussed after the fact, that is, that the proposal had been accepted, and that they were viewed by the participants as heralds of the definitive future. As my reader must have guessed by now, the gentleman was Mr. Holmes. We were reveling in our newfound mutual regard and romance, and in our matrimonial intentions. It was a bitter cold night, but neither of us noticed. In whispered tones among much merriment we spoke with the sweet quality of lovers. I bid him good-night and walked up the stairs as thought on air. As I entered the room, Alice noticed something was different about me.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well what?" I asked as I settled down blissfully into the article of furniture we had dubbed "the deep armchair."  
  
"Well, what are you so happy about? You win an argument or something?"  
  
"In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did."  
  
"What do you mean, in a manner of speaking?"  
  
"Alice, I have the most wonderful news! Mr. Holmes and I are going to be married!"  
  
"Are you out of your senses?"  
  
"Yes, and it's the most wonderful, beautiful feeling I've ever had!"  
  
"Lissy, you've done many irrational things while I've known you, but this one takes the cake! How could you accept him?"  
  
"Because I love him and he loves me. Oh Alice, how can you not be happy for me?"  
  
"Because you are mad! Still, it's obvious there's no use in trying to reason with you while your head's in the clouds, so we'll discuss this later."  
  
We never did. Alice wisely decided it would be more prudent to hold her tongue on the subject. Even now, five years later, she has never mentioned it to me.  
  
I won't mention to you all the months leading up to the wedding, because I know I would only bore you. I will restrain myself to saying that they were the most beautiful, exciting months I had ever experienced.  
  
Within a month of our marriage I was convinced daily that being in love was twice that which I had hoped since my girlhood. He had put to use those marvelous powers of his, and the trickle of work was slowly enlarging into a steady stream. At least, he made enough to pay the bills. We rented a small house in London, and there we set up a pretty little home. And most wonderful of all, I was daily more convinced of his love for me. He never said so in as many words - he wasn't that type - but his actions portrayed a gentleness I had never seen toward any other. I in my turn lavished all the love of my romantic personality on him. At first I was shy of it, and still am somewhat timid by nature, but later I dropped gentle hints of my devotion, and he never protested. Nay, he seemed to enjoy it. In fact, I can think of only one time in the first year of our connubial joy that we argued. I won.  
  
When I discovered that I was carrying a child, my natural reaction was to inform all of my dearest friends. I was, you see, but nearly twenty, and didn't realize the full meaning of privacy in family crisis. Yet I am glad I did, now, because the advice of every friend was the same: tell your husband. I must confess I was rather afraid of him, for, save once, we had never discussed the subject of children, and in that onetime he seemed particularly loth to the idea. I could somewhat sympathize with him, for he was just trying to get his career off the ground. He might, then, find a child a burdening idea just then. So it was that of all people, my husband was the least of whom I wanted to tell. But tell him I must, else he will find it out himself, and his trust, once gone, is lost forever. He was in the sitting room reading the newspaper. I made sure I looked as perfect as I possibly could, for this was the last time of all that I wanted him to find fault with me. I drew a deep breath and marched in bravely. I suppose I must have been deadly pale or something like, for he inquired upon my entering,  
  
"Why, what is wrong, love?"  
  
"Darling, I've something wonderful to tell you."  
  
"If it is so wonderful, then why, pray, are you so afraid?"  
  
"Because I'm not sure you will like to hear it."  
  
"Lissy, would you speak clearly?"  
  
"Only if you promise not to yell."  
  
"Lissy."  
  
"Promise!"  
  
"Then I give you my word."  
  
"I am going to have a baby."  
  
I have never seen anyone jump out of a chair so fast. Indeed, it was as though he had been galvanized. He opened his mouth, but closed it again upon remembering his promise not to yell. He simply took a deep breath and sat down again.  
  
"Lissy, you know I hate it when you teaze me about serious things."  
  
"I'm not teazing! I wouldn't teaze about this! I am deadly serious."  
  
He leapt up again and paced the room several times. Then he turned to face me. His face was worried for a moment, then it collapsed into a smile. I felt relieved then, for I knew he was not angry at me. It was more than I had expected, and I smiled too, but I with relief.  
  
For the next few months it was nothing but preparation. Then Sherlock got got a commission from a wealthy gentleman, and was paid handsomely for it. It was then that the worry lines around his eyes began to soften. For his mind had grown more and more stressed as the day of our child's birth approached. He did not regret my pregnancy, but wished he would be able to care for a growing family, and though he never said anything about it, he daily showed his vexation more and more. I, on the other hand, was in ecstasy. The proposal of a baby was ever appealing, and as I prepared my feelings grew to the exact opposite of my husband's. I had risen to new heights of calm and patience, which was perhaps a good thing, as my husband was so easily vexed. And Sherlock's business was ever growing. Never have I been so proud of anyone or anything than of his intelligence and genius. He has, as of today, made quite a name for himself, and I am more than sure that someday there will be few names more well known than his.  
  
When my baby was born, a terrible happening cut short my joy. The child had been born early, and was very weak. The doctor tried his hardest to save him, but he died before his second day was through. My husband had been away when the boy was born, since as I said the child was not yet expected, and it was almost a week before he returned. I sincerely hope I shall never have to go through such agony again. The sorrow of losing my son, and then to be all alone for a week, was more than I could bear. If he had stayed away longer, I should have gone mad. He returned to a near empty house and a sorrowing wife, an it took him several minutes to understand why. But when he did, he became instantly a great comfort. He held me and sat with me for at least an hour. He made his own supper. He explained and consoled the night away, and indeed I was nearly back to my old self again by the time we went to bed. The next morning he asked careful questions, and knew our son as well as I ever had from my answers.  
  
I loved my husband dearly, and had never for a moment regretted our marriage, but at times he could be simply maddening. He kept the strangest hours. He would often not come to bed until midnight or one o'clock. He rose late as well. He was the most untidy person I had ever met, despite his orderly mind. And he was exceedingly arrogant as to his intellectual powers. To be sure, he had perfect right to be arrogant, but it was nonetheless difficult to bear. This grew so much with each successful case that I felt it to be my duty to put an end to it before he lost business due to the fact that no one could bear to be near him. I was pondering this one evening over a book, when he walked in. He had been absent all day, and had given me no sign of his whereabouts, but was looking very pleased with himself. I sighed. He had, no doubt, been successful once again. He sat down in the armchair before the fire designated as his and proceeded to give me an account of the case. With every line I grew more agitated until when he had finished, I began my lecture, which I had prepared thoroughly before he had entered the room.  
  
"No doubt you did a wonderful job of it."  
  
"Yes, I did clean it up fairly well, if I do say it myself."  
  
I looked over at him.  
  
"You know no one loves you more than I, and that I would never say anything to hurt or offend you if I did not believe it to be for your own good. But you are the most arrogant man I know, and it is almost impossible for me to bear it any longer."  
  
"Perhaps what you say is true. But I have a right to be proud of my powers!"  
  
"Darling, this may come as a shock to you, but the powers of observation and deduction to any extent is not limited to you alone."  
  
"I am aware of that. You know as well as I that my brother Mycroft possesses in a higher degree than I."  
  
This statement made my task no easier.  
  
"But everyone is capable of it. For instance, it is the two combined that tell me that, despite your eventual success, you were exceedingly confused and distressed over the case when you arose this morning." I was pleased to see him give a slight start of surprise. He eyed me warily.  
  
"How did you know that?"  
  
"Simple. Even you might have noticed it," I added teazingly. "Every morning, when you come downstairs, you kiss me good-morning. Today you did not even acknowledge my presence. Also, you pride yourself on an immaculate appearance. Your shaving today was almost slovenly in it's appearance. And you nearly always tell me when you leave and where you are going. I was made aware of your departure only by the violent slamming of the front door. And all day there was never a word as to where you had been. These things combined tell me that you were preoccupied. That combined with the fact that you had been working on a case for several days with no sign of solving it tells me that you were particularly worried about the outcome of your case."  
  
Sherlock frowned, opened his mouth as if to speak, then paced the room a couple times. When he turned back toward me, I was pleased to see that he was smiling. Indeed, he looked almost as though he was about to laugh.  
  
"Excellent bit of work, Lissy. I must confess that you had startled me there, for your deductions were perfectly correct. And your explanation, too, was perfectly sound. You have, I dare say, put me properly into my place. But now, I'm starved. I've had no time to eat all day."  
  
As might have been expected, another child was born little more than a year after our first was lost. A girl this time, and a gloriously healthy one. My joy could hardly be equaled at the prospect of motherhood not cut short. After much heated debate, the child was called Isabelle Anne, after both her grandmothers, but it was quickly shortened to Belle. Belle grew quickly, and I was kept ever busy with her. But I was glad, as Sherlock's business was growing rapidly, and though that was good for our pocketbook, it was bad for our domestic life. We so seldom saw each other that one evening he declared he had nearly forgotten what I looked like! Belle was the one thing that prevented my dying of boredom.  
  
Just before Belle's second birthday, my brother Jonathan, the very one whom Sherlock had found at the beginning of our acquaintance, became suddenly and devotedly enthralled with photography. He purchased equipment and after a bit of practice he requested that he be allowed to take a portrait of me. I agreed, and went to the house he shared with my eldest brother and his wife and two boys. I took Belle with me, and she immediately fell to playing with James and Alexander, her two little cousins. I was placed by Jonathan in a chair outdoors, within view of Belle so I could make certain she was not hurt. He posed me, and just before he was to snap the photograph, Belle decided that she wanted me. She ran to me and climbed onto my lap just as the photograph was taken. After it was developed, Jonathan gave it to my husband to vex me. But he just laughed and said that it had been unavoidable, and besides, Belle complimented me so well that it made the picture all the prettier for her chubby presence. I was pleasantly surprised that he liked it, but never saw the photograph again, for he hid it and never told me where.  
  
Shortly before Belle's third birthday, I fell very ill. The doctor explained that I was in the very final stages of consumption, and that for some odd reason it had been in hiding, so to speak, until I was beyond help. Six months to live, he said, and if I survived I should be permanently weakened. I am living proof, though, that doctors are not always correct, for I am, although considerably weakened, nearing the end of my seventh month. I am certain that I shall fully recover quite soon. Indeed I pray that I do so, for what will my dear family do without me?  
  
I had just finished this story when Holmes walked in. He saw the manuscript in my hands and smiled wearily.  
  
"Well, Watson? Have I surprised you once again?"  
  
"You have indeed, Holmes."  
  
"I can tell by your face, Watson, that you wish to ask questions about the story. I give you permission. Your fear that it is too delicate a subject is unnecessary."  
  
"I merely wish to ask you, what happened to the daughter she spoke of, Belle?"  
  
"Excellent question, Watson. Actually, I am almost ashamed to answer it. She lives with her aunt and uncle and their two sons. I see her every so often, but she has no idea of the truth. She has grown up believing that her uncle and aunt are her mother and father."  
  
"And you have no intention of telling her?"  
  
"Well, perhaps someday, when she is older."  
  
"I think you acted wisely, Holmes, in entrusting her to her aunt and uncle. You knew it would be difficult for you to care for her, and did the best thing."  
  
"I thank you, Watson, for that vote of faith in my judgment. And now, my watch tells me that in exactly two and one-half hours, one of the greatest violinists in England will be performing. That should give us just time for a little supper on the way, don't you think?" 


End file.
